


Drunk in Love

by betochavez



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet in a bar AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4406672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betochavez/pseuds/betochavez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As adults, Nijimura and Himuro meet in a bar, where Nijimura is hopelessly drunk and Himuro is very, very handsome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk in Love

     In his forest green cardigan, brown loafers, and “business khakis,” Nijimura Shuuzo was not your typical staggering drunk. Loosening his tie, and pulling his dead iPhone from his pants pocket, Nijimura sat at a nearly-full table in the noisy, popular bar where he lost sight of his friends, and endured helplessly, magnificently alone.  
     Well, okay. Lost sight of his _friend_ , Mike. The rest of the gentlemen were Mike’s friends, and Nijimura only agreed to go along to this noisy (like _really_ noisy, as Nijimura’s throbbing head continuously reminded him) bar because Mike thought it would be a good “team building” exercise for physical educators in their small sector of the Los Angeles area.  
     “Sheesh, Mike,” Nijimura had scolded him, “I’m a _math_ teacher, not a PE teacher. Besides, tomorrow is Friday. I have to _teach_.”  
     “What, and I _don’t_ teach?”  
     “That’s—okay, fair enough, that’s exactly what I said.”  
     “Listen, Shuuzo. You coach the basketball team, so you’re an honorary PE teacher. And if you’re hungover, just show a video. Why do you think I’m showing Supersize Me tomorrow?”  
     “It’s _calculus_. There are no videos.”  
     “So give a pop quiz.”  
     Nijimura had to concede. It was hard to argue with Mike, who managed to retain his baby face even in his early twenties. Unfortunately for Nijimura, Mike looked young and drank young, like an engaged bachelor who celebrates their last night of freedom by getting horrifically, unspeakably, mind-blowingly drunk.  
     Which, of course, meant Nijimura also got horrifically, unspeakably, mind-blowingly drunk.  
     Nijimura, a known square, believed his forest green cardigan, brown loafers, “business khakis” (as opposed to his weekend “leisure khakis”), and tie adorned with assorted Greek-based calculus symbols may have been a bit prudish for the bar. But, after a few glasses of chardonnay, he felt (nay, _knew_ ) that he was the best dressed man in the establishment. He spent at least half an hour in the bathroom, taking advantage of the full-length mirror preserving his youthful beauty in the form of at least 200 selfies, each one more flirtatious than the last. He saved all of these in a new album titled “Fie mT FYTRRE nOYDRies,” which roughly translates to “For My Future Boyfriend” in drunk-typing.  
     As Nijimura sat at his table, tapping his iPhone “home” button bitterly and futilely, calculus tie askew, brown loafers half off his feet, and forest green cardigan ruined by pit-stains, several onlookers noticed this lonely, drunken nerd, and took pity on him. Only one, however, took enough pity to actually approach him.  
\-------  
     Nijimura thought he had been visited by an angel. He had succumbed to alcohol poisoning, and gone to heaven. He was good in this life, and God was gay and had _excellent_ taste in celestial messengers.  
     “Hey, are you okay? You seem lost.”  
     The “angel” was none other than the bartender, whose name badge read “Tatsuya,” though to the inebriated Nijimura the badge seemed to read “KISS ME, YOU FOOL!”  
     Knowing better than to trust sketchy advice from the lapels of gorgeous men, Nijimura held himself together and attempted what some in the business of seduction call Conversation.  
     “Hello. You are hot and I am lost and sleepy, but mostly you are hot.”  
     Nailed it!  
     “Yes, of course I am,” Tatsuya said calmly. His face, beautiful as it was, partially covered by shiny black hair, betrayed no emotion yet exuded extraordinary kindness. Not that Nijimura noticed his expression; he was too focused on the mole just under his right eye, remembering that moles in that position signified that the individual who possessed it would lead a sad life. Nijimura felt inexplicably concerned by the past struggles of his handsome savior, and sought to divulge his sympathies calmly and resolutely.  
     “Who…who _hurt_ you?"  
     Tatsuya, used to disorieriented drunks, ignored his question. “What is your name?”  
     “Mr. Nijimura. That’s MR. Nijimura to you, though!” That…may have made no sense. “I mean…Shuu. People call me Shuu. See, I’m a uh…high school teacher, and I guess I’m so used to being called Mr. Nijimura that I…uh…” In reality, Nijimura’s friends call him Shuuzo, but for some incomprehensible reason Nijimura _really_ wanted Tatsuya to call him Shuu.  
     “Alright, _sensei_. Where are your friends?”  
     “First of all, it’s _Shuu_ -sensei to you.”  
     “I think I’ll stick with Shuu. But you didn’t answer me before. Where are your friends?”  
     “Good question,” said Nijimura.  
     In an attempt to keep Nijimura’s mind focused and alert, Tatsuya said, “Tell me, _sensei_ —Shuu. Aren’t all questions ‘good questions’?”  
     “No—there are no stupid questions, but that doesn’t mean there are only _good_ questions.”  
     Tatsuya smiled gently, relieved. “You seem pretty articulate for a drunk.”  
     “That’s because I’m not drunk,” Nijimura proclaimed confidently. “I am in _love_.”  
     “Alright, loverboy,” said Tatsuya, patiently. “Can you stand?”  
     “Can I stand? Can I _stand_?” Nijimura wiggled his feet, and grunted as he thrust his balled fists skyward, as if he were skiing. “No, it seems I cannot stand.”  
     “Alright, then up you go.” Tatsuya lifted Nijimura’s arm over his shoulder, and hoisted him up. Nijimura suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about his sweaty pits, and blushed. Tatsuya noticed. “That is,” Tatsuya said, enjoying the attention, “if I don’t make you too nervous, standing so close.”  
     Nijimura’s heart pounded in time with his temples. He said, in a voice so genuine it could only have come from the mouth of a drunk, “I have never been more nervous in my whole life.”  
     Tatsuya blinked. “So, um, can you call your friend?”  
     “Nope. Phone’s dead.”  
     “Incredible! It’s as if all the bad luck of the universe is centered on you today.”  
     “It kind of is. Cancer is supposed to have the worst luck today.”  
     “You care that much what Oha-Asa says? Even in the states?” Tatsuya said, incredulously.  
     “Someone I knew kind of rubbed off on me, I guess. He was also a Cancer.”  
     Tatsuya gave a wry smile. “It _is_ incredible. ‘Phone’s dead.’ We cannot find your friends, because _all_ the phones in the world are dead!”  
     “You know, if I wasn’t piss-drunk right now, I would say that you were flirting with me.”  
     “All I heard was ‘piss,’ and now I am concerned for my flooring.”  
     “Hey.” Nijimura’s voice became serious. “I would never piss on you. It would ruin my business khakis. Unless you were into that, then—“  
     “I’m not, so please keep your urine to yourself.”  
     “Good to know.” Nijimura paused. “Tatsuya?”  
     “Hmm?”  
     “Ur-ine my heart.”  
     “Uh huh, okay.” Tatsuya craned his neck, looking around for a group of men who may have lost a friend.  
Suddenly, Tatsuya laughed.  
     “Oh—urine my heart! Like ‘you’re in’ and ‘urine’!” Tatsuya covered his mouth and chuckled, softer this time.  
     “Took ya awhile.”  
     “Yes, well, I am a little preoccupied right now. What does your friend look like?”  
     “Um, he’s white, reddish-blonde hair, kind of a baby face.”  
     “Alright.”  
     “Hey, thanks for the help and all, but don’t you have a bar to tend?”  
     Tatsuya swept his hair back, and said coolly, “I had one of my capable apprentices cover. You just looked so helpless, my big-brother instincts kicked in.”  
     “Yeah…I’m usually the one looking out for everybody, I don’t know _what_ happened tonight. Okay, well, the basketball team I coach is entering the CIF semifinals, and it just. I don’t know. Stirs up weird memories.”  
     “Oh?” Tatsuya said, interest piqued.  
     Oh? Did you play basketball?”  
     “Yes.” Tatsuya said. “I…love basketball.”  
     It might have been the alcohol, but Nijimura could have _sworn_ he said that last sentence in Japanese.  
     “Oh, that is good news! I mean—not that I was testing—or that I was—or that anyone has to—“  
     “SHUUUUUUUUUUUZOOO! SHUUUUUUUUUUUUZOOO!”  
     There he was. Mike.  
     Nijimura stopped blathering for the first time since entering Tatsuya’s embrace.  
     “MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE!”  
     Tatsuya turned around and saw who could have only been Mike, as described. He relinquished the burden of Nijimura onto Mike’s shoulders.  
     “So I guess…this is the end.” Nijimura said, with morose finality.  
     “No, it isn’t.” Tatsuya said, as he pulled a pen from his pocket and grabbed Nijimura’s arm, rolling up the sleeve of his forest green cardigan. “There’s my cell number. Text me if you ever want to play a little one-on-one. Or, uh…”  
     Nijimura stared at his arm in wonder. “Okay, I will.” He paused. “I just have to ask, why did you keep calling me _sensei_ even after I said to call me ‘Shuu’?”  
     “Ah,” Tatsuya said, filled with a desire to end the conversation as quickly as he could before he could embarrass himself, “I guess I just thought it was kind of hot.”  
     Nailed it!  
     Mike began to pull Nijimura away, and the busboy that Tatsuya had cover for him was understandably swamped, and so the two parted ways.  
     Nijimura, freshly invigorated by a glorious interaction with a beautiful man, walked out of the bar on his own two legs, hardly swaying at all.  
     Tatsuya, surname Himuro, retreated behind the counter, where his shaking knees, sweaty palms, and violently beating heart could be better masked by the hustle and bustle of the noisy, noisy bar.


End file.
